


The Influence of Time

by MonAnge1863



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonAnge1863/pseuds/MonAnge1863
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I should've never come here. I knew the risks, but It didn't matter. It was he who lured me here; and he who made me leave it... I float here in this blinding white space of nothing to wait. Waiting for what's to come..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mysterious Rose

The Mysterious Rose-  
~Paris France, 2014~  
It was a warm, midsummer's eve. The sun was just beginning to set when a cold, Northern breeze drifts into my open bedroom window, playing with the curtains and caressing my cheek as I read a novel in bed. The cold air chilled my skin, causing me to involuntarily shudder, and reluctantly wrench myself from the twisting plot of my book, The Phantom of the Opera, to shut the window.  
Before I do, however, I take in the incredible sight before me. Paris was washed in the glowing hues of a sunset; the Eiffel Tower a mere silhouette in the distance; shadows play throughout the streets. From below the window of our new house, I could hear the sounds of jazz music, laughter, and fleeting conversation coming from Le Cafe de la Rose down the rue, along with the overwhelming scent of roses and red wine.  
I take in the scene in delight. This was a much better view than the rolling hills of our country home in Virginia. All of it seems like a dream! One month, I'm living in the small town of Warm Springs, the next I'm in Paris! Sighing in bliss, I close the open panel of my bay window, then go back to my bed to find where I left Raoul and Nadir in the Cellars.  
I've read the book at least thirty times; the pages well worn and creased. I got it as a birthday present when I was twelve from my friend, Ruth. I still remember the confusion I had when I tore away the music note gift wrap, and finding a note attached to its cover (I still have the note in a scrapbook i made with pictures of me and Ruth from Middle school to when I moved end of sophomore year).  
"My Christine,  
May you be a shining star, and maybe  
you can find your Erik someday! ;)  
your Beloved Friend,  
R.H."  
I finally caught onto the joke soon after reading it that very night. I poured over each page with wonder, entranced by the dynamic of the plot and characters. I became obsessed with it. I watched all the play and movie adaptations, and even published a collection of Phantom themed poems on a fanfiction website. My main source of captivation was of Erik, or the Opera Ghost, because of his haunted past, and his search for affection in a world of hate and scorn.  
As I neared the end of the book, I couldn't help but think about the move. Our house was packed away, ready to make the International trip to our new home. My parents had decided it was for the best if it could help me activate faster.  
Allow me to introduce and explain myself. My name is Christine Elizabeth Delacroix, Daughter of Harmony and James Delacroix. In both sides of my family, there is an inherited mutation in our DNA. This mutation causes the effected member to be able to travel to the past. With these families scattered all over the world, there are laws that we must obey that were established by the eight members of the Heavenly Order, our sort of parliament, if you will. Of these laws, one of the most important law to follow is that a traveler must never alter the passage of time in an extreme way. If you do, It's rumored that the Order will strip you of the mutation, and send you back to your present with no memory of even having it at all.  
The mutation usually activates when the traveler is fourteen, but they can't exactly control it until seventeen. Until that time comes, all travelers take lessons in etiquette, history, language and defense for each era. I'm sixteen, but I haven't gotten activated yet (call me a late bloomer). Because of that, we moved to my dad's hometown to see if that would help speed up the process (which I hope it will).  
I finish my book well after sunset; my eyes starting to tire with fatigue. I place the book on my nightstand, then sleepily cross my room to get into pajamas. Too tired to pick up my clothes from the floor, I lumber back to my bed to sleep. Before I even climb into bed, however, I see a beautiful red rose resting atop my book.  
Bewildered, my tired eyes widen in shock. I gently pick up the rose, finding that, tied to the slender, thorn less stem, with a silk ribbon the color of a glossy raven's wing.  
'How did this even get here,' I thought to myself.  
'My door was closed the whole time...'  
My groggy mind tried pondering over this mystery, but it was very late, and I needed rest.  
Deciding to inhale the scent of the rose before thinking too long on this, I put it to my nose. As I smell the delightful, familiar perfume of the rose, my nose detects a trace of another lingering scent; a combination of sage and a musky, forest-like smell. Almost like cologne, but nothing I've ever smelled before. It was oddly comforting, this scent, and it sent chills up my spine.  
I set my rose on my well worn copy of The Phantom of the Opera, and climb into bed, turning off my reading light. thoughts of who had given me the rose race through my mind sluggishly. I drift to sleep with the image and lingering scent of the rose ingrained into my mind.


	2. Thoughts and Anger

Thoughts and Anger-  
When I wake up the next morning, thoughts of the rose come to mind, and I look over to my nightstand to see if it was still there, and not a figment of my imagination. Sure enough, the rose still rests on my book where I had left it last night, Its perfume becoming more pronounced. I rise out of bed, then tear my gaze from the flower as I get ready to explore the town for the day.  
After getting dressed in a lace shirt and acid washed shorts, I clean my room and make my bed. As I finish pulling the comforter to the pillows as I usually do, my eyes rest on an elegantly framed picture sitting on my night stand. I pick it up, then sit on my bed, cradling it in my hands. It was a picture of one of the last times I saw Ruth before the move. It was Halloween, and we were both dressed as the Phantom. In the picture, our smiling faces gaze up at me, frozen in that moment. Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of anger and homesickness wash over me like a tidal wave. I put the picture back on the nightstand, my face turning away in the mix of emotions now putting me in a foul mood. I grab my brown satchel with my phone, wallet, and a book inside and leave my room.  
I walk down the spiral staircase to find that my parents were waiting for me at the bottom; they never start breakfast without me, no matter how late it was. Muttering under my breath, I say to myself, with a scowl,  
"Perfect. Now I feel even worse..."  
"Christine, we have breakfast waiting," my mom said, guiding my dad and I to the six seated dining room table laden with my favorite breakfast; french toast drenched with syrup and scrambled eggs and bacon, with orange juice as a refreshment. My dad takes his usual place at the front, with mom on his left, and me on the right.  
Even though it was my favorite foods, I hardly picked at it in my foul temper. Dad noticed the odd behavior and asked, in a worried tone:  
"Christine, what's the matter? I thought this was your favorite."  
"I'm not hungry," I reply, mumbling into my plate. I was growing increasingly angry that we were not in Virginia instead. I mean, I had too leave the only life I knew to start a new one overseas. Without any of my friends. I wasn't exactly in a happy mood this morning.  
"Christine. Look at me. Something is definitely wrong. What's-" my dad started, but I interrupt him, looking directly into his eyes.  
"You want to know what's wrong? Fine, I'll tell you. It's because you sent me overseas to uproot from the only life I knew in Virginia to restart in Paris! Now a can't see my friends anymore because of it! I never wanted to leave Virginia, even if it was for Paris!" I snap.  
"Honey, it's-" my mom starts to try to reassure me, but I continue on.  
"For the best?! How is this any better? I don't know ANYONE here! I'd rather be in Warm Springs with the life that I did have than in Paris with no friends at all!" I rise from the table angrily, clattering the dishes. I storm to the front door, to get away form all of this. To be alone. Dad follows close behind, saying,  
"Christine, wait! I'm sorry, I never-"  
I spin around to face him, the blood boiling in my veins.  
"Never what? Ruin the life I had to move for some small hope?! I don't want to see you ever again! I Hate you," I shout, venom dripping from every word. His face paled, then fell, stunned into silence. As my venomous words sunk in, he seemed to have aged a decade. I should've felt remorse, but all I felt was the anger caused by moving here, too angry to care. Before he could say a word, I open the front door, slamming it behind me.  
I walked around Paris aimlessly, my mind racing at a million miles per hour. After walking to the Champs Elysees, I buy myself something to eat from one of the cafes. I was hungry, considering I hardly touched my food this morning. After paying for the meal, I head over to a nearby park to read the book in my satchel; Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I was absorbed into the story, and quickly lost track of time. I check my phone. It's four in the afternoon. Marking my place in my book, I set out for home, looking to apologize for my horrible mood earlier this morning.   
When I was close to home, I noticed a big crowd of reporters, police, and neighbors barricaded to Le Cafe de la Rose. I pushed through the crowd, hoping I could get home and find what was going on; I was scared. At last, I reached the front of the crowd, and I saw it. A piece of the cafe's building had crashed onto the pavement, crashing onto the cobblestone street. I glimpse a flash of red underneath the rubble, but before I got a close look, a policeman of heavy build stood in my view. In french, he barked for me to keep back.  
"Vous ne pouvez pas passer, mademoiselle!"  
I quickly explained to him that I lived in the neighborhood.  
"s'il vous plait, monsieur! J'habites ici!" I point to my house, where I saw mom on the front stairs of our home. He finally lets me through with a dismissive grunt.  
I sprint to my house, my eyes starting to water.  
"Mom!" I shout to her, running to her arms. She held me tight, crying into my hair, and she said  
" Christine!T-thank God you're a-alright! S-Something terrible happened..." she falters, coming out of my hair to look at me with tear filled eyes.  
"I saw that... Mom, what's going on? Where's dad?" I ask, worried.  
from the look on my mom's face, I could tell that it's not going to be good news. Tears fall down her cheeks as she tries telling me.  
"Your dad w-was right underneath t-the rubble when it f-fell... He's-" I don't hear the rest of her sentence. I see her mouth the words, but I don't hear them. My mind goes numb, and the tears I had held back flowed freely on my cheeks. Trembling, I fall to my knees, knowing what she said...  
"He's dead..."   
those two words echo into my blank mind, and my world is deprived of color. Of warmth. I feel the arms of my mother encasing me, but I don't notice them. I scream in anguish, shouting  
"Daddy!" a river of tears flowing from my face.


	3. In The Dark

In the Dark-  
~Five levels below the Palais Garnier, 1883~  
I sit in the parlor, my hands raking through my hair in frustration to keep me from containing the terrible temper threatening to burst forth from me. All I'm creating is meaningless smoke and noise; I cannot urge anything more from my music. Ever since Christine chose the Viscount de Chagny, my music has been deprived of a voice to breathe life into them, to make it take wing..   
Suddenly, I hear my piano playing on its own accord! Startled from my near tantrum, I race from the parlor to my music room to investigate. Then, I hear it; the voice I've been searching for! It was pure and crystalline, full of raw emotion. I burst into the room, and find... Nothing at all! As quickly as it had come, the voice and the piano stopped, leaving me , dumbfounded, in the middle of the room. I had drawn one conclusion. I wanted, nay, I needed, that voice!

~Paris France, 2014~  
The time that had passed after my screams became oblivious to me; I moved as if I was controlled by a puppeteer. My eyes produced an everlasting flow of tears as I felt the sting of my last words to my dad. It felt as though I had been slapped, and I deserved it. I could never take back the venomous last words, the pain contorted on his face as I said them, nothing. the feelings of intense guilt and remorse haunted my mind as lingering reminders of what I had done. Words of my own and my mothers had caused another slap in the face in a never ending loop in my blank, zombie-like mind.  
"He's dead...."  
"I Hate you!"  
I excused myself from the scene, entering my home through a black door; climbing the grey staircase to my sea of grey. My immediate action as I set foot in my room was to play my piano; to get lost in the intricate melodies in comfort. It didn't matter what I played, as long as I could suppress the hell I'm going through, and distract myself from it.  
I absently pressed the worn ivory keys of my vintage Baldwin; my mind was thinking of everything and nothing all at once, playing snippets of random chords from works ranging from early classical to contemporary. I then find myself playing and singing Lost in Paradise.  
"I've been believing in something so distant,  
as if I was human.  
And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness,  
in me, in me.  
All the promises I made,  
just to let you down.  
You believed in me, but I'm broken..  
I have nothing left,  
and all I feel is this cruel wanting.  
We've been falling for all this time,  
and now, I'm lost in paradise.  
As much, I'd like the past not to exist,  
it still does.  
And as much as I'd like to feel like I belong here,   
I'm just as scared as you.  
I have nothing left.  
And all I feel is this cruel wanting.  
we've been falling for all this time,  
and now, I'm lost in paradise.   
Run away.. Run away,  
one day we won't feel this pain anymore.  
Take it all away,   
shadows of you.  
'Cause they won't let go until I have nothing left.  
And I will feel this cruel wanting.  
We've been falling for all this time,  
and now, I'm lost in paradise.  
Alone, and lost in paradise..."  
As I sing the last of the song, tears stream down my face. I crawl into bed to curl into myself, sobbing openly. My mom came in a few moments after, cradling my sobbing form into her arms, her hand stroking my hair. My eyes are severely swollen and red, and my throat raw from screaming. She says soothing words into my ear as she rocks me, but it falls deaf on my ears. I bury my head into her chest, letting her calm me down. Eventually, my mom put me back to my bed, with one last hug before she left me to my world of grey.   
I glance over to my nightstand to gaze at the picture of me and Ruth for comfort, but a crystal vase blocks my view. I gasp in surprise. I find my rose among five other identical ones surrounding it, a big, black silk ribbon tied to the neck of the vase. Within the sea of grey surrounding them, the roses in the vase radiate with vibrant color; my only bit of color in my world of grey.   
A tired smile stretches over my ear glistened cheeks as I laid my head on my pillow facing the nightstand. I start to drift asleep, but last thoughts of the mystery sender shone through. Whoever it was, they understood my hurt, my pain; they cared enough to give me hope in a time where I thought there was none just moments before. The last thing I see is the vase of roses, the perfume and cologne scent lulling me to sleep for the first night without my dad.


	4. Forgiveness

Forgiveness-   
~2014~  
Weeks had passed since dad had died. Mom coped, but, I didn't know how. It was like a dark shadow fell over everything I did, preventing any joy from coming through. I've kept myself shut off from the world, staying in the sanctuary of my room. My dreams had turned into nightmares for consecutive days, threatening to take hold of me.  
The dream that appeared the most often was about the last moments of dad's life. I would be near; a silent witness to his fate, not able to save him in time. Even if I ran to him to warn him, the tumbling piece of building was always quicker. I would awake screaming, my body covered in sweat. It became a natural thing, these dreams, and I had no control of them.  
Sitting on the piano bench, I hesitantly put my hands on the keys. These are the very same keys that have seen my pain, my hurt. My hands find the chords for Lost in Paradise. As I start to sing, I can feel my heart beating to the pulse of the music, and fresh tears threaten to spill onto my cheeks. They overflow, falling on my face and onto the keys as I sing. My hands start to tremble, but I still continue to play. When I strike the final chords of the song, I put my face in my hands, bursting to tears.   
My crying stops for a rare moment, and I think of dad. The things we did that caused joy, and the many memories made with him. I recall a memory I haven't thought of in years. It was when I was five, and I was first learning how to ice skate.  
" You can do it Christine. Skate over to me."  
" I can't, daddy! I'm going to fall!"  
Skating over to him, I can feel my weight wobble out of balance, like a bike with the training wheels off for the first time. My weight shifted harshly to the right, making me fall.   
"daddy!"  
His strong arms caught me, taking me by surprise.   
"I got you, Christine. It's ok. You did amazing for your first try! I'm so proud of you, mon ange!"  
I looked up at his face, smiling. He had a beaming smile, and kissed the top of my head.  
"Do you want to try again?"  
"Yes daddy!"   
After that, I skated pretty well, and skated around the whole rink.  
Tears welled up again, only.. these were tears of joy. I would give anything to see that beaming smile again. Then, a vivid memory comes back to me; the last memory I have of my father. We fought, and the last words I ever spoke to him were "I don't want to see you ever again! I Hate you!"   
I finally realize what I had done. Those were the last words he ever heard from me. I still remember the pained look on his face that seemed to age him by a decade before I stormed off outside.   
"Oh, God! What have I done?" I burst into tears again, and I finally reach a logical solution.   
I get ready to head out. I'm going to church, to repent for those hurtful words I spoke to my dad, and pray for forgiveness. As I compose myself to brace for the world, I shut my door, leaving behind all of that hurt and pain I had. As I walked past, I could feel the stares and whispers of the people on the streets. Talking about the accident. I only walked faster, my head bowed down to keep myself from crying. Finally, I reach the church, sighing in relief.  
The church was a simple, yet elegant building. all of the windows were stained glass scenes depicting certain bible stories, painted with vibrant colors as if painted yesterday. Candelabras line the walls, and many rows of pews occupy the middle of the church. I seat myself in a pew near the front, bowing my head to pray.  
As my mind rests in the meditative state of prayer, I can hear the sounds of the empty church. The faint music coming from the organ, the muffled sounds of the world outside, and the occasional patter of feet running across the room from the church mice living here. It seemed as though I was there for hours, with nothing to pry me from the deep, meditative state I was in.   
Suddenly, I hear the church doors open, and my eyes fly open, my heart pounding with fear. I rise to my feet, and turn around. I realize it was only the preacher coming in for his daily devotional prayer. With a sigh of relief, I quickly gather myself, and start to walk to the door.   
"I came to repent for my sins, father," I spoke into the silence, catching his attention.  
"Well, alright child. follow me."  
I follow him into confession, and I take a seat.  
"What do you wish to repent upon, mademoiselle?"  
"The last words I spoke to my father. They were cruel, and he died with those words of anger from me."   
"I'm sure he already knows that you do in fact love him."  
"But the pained look on his face after I said it has... has haunted me since his death. I-I don't know what to do!" Tears start to fall down my face, the wound I had given myself reopened.  
"Come now, don't cry. What you can do, mademoiselle, is to pray for forgiveness. Believe that God will tell your father you're sorry, and that you really do love him."   
I stop crying heavily, and take this into consideration.  
"I will, father. T-thank you..."   
"Your quite welcome. I'm always hear to relieve a troubled heart. Au revoir, mademoiselle."  
"Au revoir, father Leroux."   
I stay a little while longer, doing as father Leroux instructed.  
"God, if you're there, please, tell my dad I never meant to say those words. Please forgive me for the harsh words I have said, and tell him I love him, and miss him very much. Amen."   
I come home, and get bombarded with questions as I walk in the door.  
"Christine, where were you? You had me worried sick! Why didn't you tell me you were going anywhere?"  
"Mom," I said in reply.  
"I'm alright. I just went to the church to confess about what I said to dad the day he died. I just couldn't bear to know those words had been the last ones he ever heard from me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I was in a rush to get this matter resolved."  
Her expression softened as she replied in surprise  
"Did you really? Oh, sweetheart, come here." She pulls me into a hug, making tears come.  
"Your dad loved you very much, and still does. It was a good thing you went to the church for your trouble, instead of turning to drugs or alcohol..." I laugh a little; moms can be so overprotective.  
"You know I would never do that, mom."  
"I know. Come on, lets go have some dinner. I made your favorite; Fettuccine Alfredo!"  
After I helped mom with the dishes, I return to my room, tired and ready to go to bed. I open my door, and automatically see a note propped up on the vase of my now wilting roses; I never found any cause to throw them out. Surprised, I pick it up. I break the red wax seal, and find the note is written in a clumsy script in red ink, like an eighth grade boys. 

Christine-   
I have not a clue to who you are, and how I know your name, but I just want you to know that I know exactly that kind of pain and hurt your going through right now. you are my inspiration to keep living. And I want you to keep persevering through these troubled times. It will get better, I assure you.   
O.G.


	5. Notes and Memories of Long Ago

Notes and memories of long ago-  
~1883~  
I bolt upright from a rare slumber in a cold sweat. The dream was so real, it was as though I was there. The emotions so vivid, so lifelike, it was downright terrifying, though not much can scare me. It's already starting to slip away, but I lumber over to the kitchen to make myself some tea to calm my nerves.   
As soon as the tea was nice and strong, I pour myself a cup. Thoughts of the girl that appeared in my dream start churning through my mind. 'Who was she? Why did I dream of her, much less gift her with roses?' This was the second time this happened, though it was the first time the girl actually had spoken anything less than the few words exchanged to a minister.   
She had sung the song I had heard in the cellars the day before I had the first dream. One of hurt, pain, and loss. What if she was the same voice I heard? As I pondered over this, I heard the song again, but more clearer than it was before; I could hear every word this time.  
I rush over to my piano, and, lo and behold, it was playing by itself! I heard her voice tearfully sing the song as though she was the one playing it, but no one was there!   
"I've been believing in something so distant,  
as if I was human.  
And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness,  
in me, in me.  
All the promises I made,  
just to let you down.  
You believed in me, but I'm broken..  
I have nothing left,  
and all I feel is this cruel wanting.  
We've been falling for all this time,  
and now, I'm lost in paradise.  
As much, I'd like the past not to exist,  
it still does.  
And as much as I'd like to feel like I belong here,   
I'm just as scared as you.  
I have nothing left.  
And all I feel is this cruel wanting.  
we've been falling for all this time,  
and now, I'm lost in paradise.   
Run away.. Run away,  
one day we won't feel this pain anymore.  
Take it all away,   
shadows of you.  
'Cause they won't let go until I have nothing left.  
And I will feel this cruel wanting.  
We've been falling for all this time,  
and now, I'm lost in paradise.  
Alone, and lost in paradise..."  
I waited, half in shock, the other half in wonder at the sight before me. Jokingly, I thought 'The opera ghost is being haunted by another ghost? That's preposterous!' Suddenly, a silence fell over the room. The song was over. Still shocked, I sit on the piano bench. It was warm. When I had cause to look at the keys, a few of them had drops of liquid on them... tears? Shaking, I look over to my manuscripts. There, on a few sheets of new parchment I bought yesterday, was the song. I then drop them, as though they suddenly turned into hot iron.   
What's going on?! That question floated through my mind as I ran some errands; I wasn't progressing further with my pieces today, not after what happened this morning. And those words, they were expressed with such raw emotion, as if- as if the girl from my dream had been there in my lair. Shaking my head, I finish my errands, and return home. Somehow, I just couldn't stop thinking of her...  
When I returned, I suddenly got the urge to play that song that was written on the parchment. As I started playing, I felt an intense wave of emotions crash over me. Emotions that I haven't felt in a long time, long since locked away in my heart. These were emotions of loss, anger, and pain. The last time I felt such emotions was when I was but a child, when a band of mean children at the orphanage killed my dearly beloved friend, Sasha. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, just as that poor girl did. The song was over,and the emotions faded away, just like a wisp of fog into the night.   
Only one tear escaped my eyes, falling onto a piano key; just as many tears of the girl's had. I've always kept that memory locked away in myself, never to be relived again. But here I was, crying for my dear Sasha once more. I look at the time. Half past ten. Weary from that relived memory, I prepare for bed. Before I settle to sleep, however, I act on something I had turned over all day. I decide to write her a note. Getting parchment and ink, I start to write.  
Christine-   
I have not a clue to who you are, and how I know your name, but I just want you to know that I know exactly that kind of pain and hurt your going through right now. you are my inspiration to keep living. And I want you to keep persevering through these troubled times. It will get better, I assure you.   
O.G.


	6. De'ja Vu

De'ja Vu-  
-Present Day-  
As I finish reading the note, I'm stunned speechless. After a few moments of shocked silence, I still clutch the note firmly in my hand. O.G?! That's Opera Ghost, which can only mean... I'm connected to him in some sort of supernatural way. That's the only explanation I can think of for the roses, and this note... Or, this might be a very elaborate hoax upon which the only cause is to take me out of my depressed state, which; I have to admit, was working. After the initial shock wears off, I start to laugh.  
'Why would Phantom be interested in me? What have I done to... Wait a moment.' I manage to stop myself right in my train of thought. Of course! the dreams! I sang in my recent dreams, and when I was awake! This explains everything! My gene has finally started to kick in, but in such an odd way... I have to tell mom!  
For the first time in about a month, I actually eat with my mom. Going down to the dining room, I contemplate on how I'm going to tell her. 'Should I just blurt it out, or should I put it casually in the conversation?' I shake my head. I can only imagine how that would work out. 'Hey mom, while I was hibernating in my room, my gene kicked in through my genes, and it was connected by the Phantom.'  
When I finally approach the doorway, I take a deep breath, then step through the threshold. I hear my mom gasp, and I look up to see the surprised expression on her face. After I take my seat, she starts hounding me with questions. Typical of a mother.  
"Are you feeling alright honey? Is it getting any better for you?"  
"I'm fine mom, and it's getting better to cope, little by little. But I guess that's what comes with losing a loved one, right," I ask, a smile starting to form on my hardened features.  
After a few moments of silence, I start to tell her about my situation.  
"Hey, mom? What was your experience like when you first traveled back?"  
"Well, I was at home, and in my room. I was studying when I felt a wave of nausea pass over me. Next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of a cobblestone street in the 1800's. Why?"  
"Well, I think- I think my gene kicked in."  
"That's great honey! I knew it would kick in faster in France! So what was it like?"  
"Well, I haven't physically traveled back yet, but I have a physiological connection with a man in 1883. A specific man, to be exact."  
"Well, that's odd, but not rare for travelers. Who are you connected to?"  
"Erik."  
My mother's smile fades.   
"you don't possibly mean...?"  
"Yes, it's him. The Opera Ghost, I'm sure of it. He sent me roses and a note."  
"Oh, dear... It might be because of your passion for music, or that story itself..."  
She goes silent, which scares me even more than her first reaction to the news. In the silence that follows as we eat, I can only wonder why my mother was acting like that.   
After the meal is finished, mom just abruptly walks from the room, causing my confusion to rise.  
\- Harmony Delacroix's perspective-  
After the first conversation with Christine in a month, I'm rendered speechless. She said Erik was delivering her roses, and... a note! How can this be possible? It sounds like the same thing that happened to other travelers in the archives.  
I rub my temples in exasperation. If she has a connection with Phantom, that could only mean one thing... I'm going to lose my daughter to a masked man from the past! Our family has had quite a history with that time.. Including myself. I stare off in the distance, remembering the first time I met Christine's father, just realizing that the same thing happened to me.  
It was the spring of 1863, the height of the London season. I was in my twenty's, already a veteran of traveling back in time, and I had decided on going to a masquerade ball. It was a flurry of excitement. People gathered from France, Italy, Spain, and even Russia for the event. I wasn't accompanied by anyone, but then, I saw him. He was standing near the entrance to the ballroom, looking very handsome in what he was wearing, though his mask was a little odd. Instead of it being different shades of colors or decorated like the others, it was just a plain ivory color. Walking in alone, he immediately noticed me, and asked me to dance.   
Two dances later, I'm outside with him, our masks drawn away. We ended up talking for hours, lost in our own world, and not noticing anyone else. As it turns out, he was a time traveler as well, though he truly did belong in 1863. His name was Sir James Delacroix, lord of Derbyshire. In a matter of months, we were married, happily settled in my time.   
Shaking my head from the distant memory, I long for him once more. 'Oh James, if only we had stayed in Warm Springs... This never would've happened!' My tears spill over my cheeks, and I find myself burying my head in my hands.   
~~~~~~~~~  
-Christine's perspective-  
I'm still trying to ponder over the reaction to my time travel blunders. Why would she act like that? Is it because of who I'm connected with, or... Is there a deeper understanding to her feelings, like she's been there in that situation before? I'm thinking about it so much I get a headache, then it finally comes to me. What if... What if it has something to do with dad?


	7. Relived pasts

Relived Pasts-  
-Present day-  
Thinking about this possibility, I head over to see my mom, and hopefully she has the answer to this dilemma. As I walk the long corridors of our estate, I'm trying to think of other possibilities on why mom reacted the way she did. 'Maybe she knew this was going to happen all along? or, she might secretly be pleased on my activation...' these ideas floated around my mind, as before I knew it, I was at the door of my mother's room where she retreated after I told her.  
With a sigh, I Knock on her door.  
"Mom? Are you in here? We need to talk."  
" I'm here, Christine. You can come in. I was thinking of the same thing."  
I enter her room, and sit on her bed next to her. I look at her straight in the eyes, and I can immediately tell that she has been crying because of the redness and puffiness of her eyes.  
"Mom, are you alright? It looks as though you have been crying."  
She doesn't reply, but silent tears roll down her cheeks instead. To comfort her, I sit closer to her, and grab a hold of her hand.  
"Oh, you've been thinking of dad, huh? I actually need to talk about that."  
She looks up to my eyes, and gains her composure again to talk.  
"What is it?"  
"Well," I started, "I was thinking about your reaction to my first time travel, and I wondered if it had a deeper meaning, like if it had anything to do with dad."  
She stops a moment, and after a few moments of guarded silence, she replies.  
"Oh, Christine. It does. I only reacted that way because it reminded me of what happened to me when I met your father."   
"How exactly did you meet him, mom," I asked.  
My mother began telling her tale after a moment's pause.  
"I was twenty years old, already a veteran of traveling through time. I had decided to go to a masquerade ball that night in London of 1863. I traveled alone, and your father was standing at the front entrance. He was the first person I noticed, because his mask was different out of the rest of them. Instead of being a shade of vibrant colors like other patrons wore, he wore a pure ivory colored mask. Noticing that I was unaccompanied, he advanced toward me, and we ended up dancing for two consecutive dances.   
"After that, we went to the gardens to get away, and your father and I talked for hours, our faces unmasked. I learned he was Lord of Derbyshire, and at that same time, we figured out that we should get married."  
After a pause, she begins speaking again.  
"Do you now see why I reacted the way I did? It just reminded me of that time, and I didn't want you to rush into that sort of thing. I mean, you are only sixteen, and your not out of high school yet."  
"Oh mom, you worry too much. It's not like I'm going to instantly fall in love with Erik the first time I see him in person. That, I will keep to myself."   
We both end up bursting into fits of laughter at the thought, and instantly, our mood turns brighter, almost as if we were normal again, or as normal as we could get under the circumstances. After a few moments to catch my breath, I get up to leave.  
"Thanks mom. I appreciate the clearing up of that reaction of yours."  
"Your quite welcome, Christine. It looks like we needed that time to just connect more."  
With a smile, I leave my mother, content with the answer that I got, and finally a little normal since the news I received months ago (though it felt like an eternity).  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
-1883-  
It has been many weeks since I heard Christine's voice, and I'm absolutely going mad! I simply cannot get any of my work done, because I can't hear her voice echo through my halls, and I am too distracted by it to do anything else. To give me something to do, I make myself some tea, and try to unwind.   
Though I made myself some calming tea, my nerves just will not settle down... I'm just too distracted. 'Try to get hold of yourself, Erik!' I chide myself. It seemed to have worked a little, and I finally bring myself to play my piano again. Putting the remains of my tea in the kitchen, after I'm done washing out my dishes, I go over to my piano.  
When I reach my piano, a flood of emotions rush through me... But these are emotions of joy, and happiness; Emotions that I have kept from myself for a long time. suddenly, before I can even sit down on the piano bench, I hear Christine sing, and play my piano. It is an odd tune, the likes of which I've never heard of in my life.

'I used to rule the world  
Seas would rise when I gave the word  
Now in the morning I sleep alone  
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice  
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes  
Listen as the crowd would sing  
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key  
Next the walls were closed on me  
And I discovered that my castles stand  
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing  
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing  
Be my mirror, my sword and shield  
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain  
Once you go there was never  
Never an honest word  
And that was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind  
Blew down the doors to let me in  
Shattered windows and the sound of drums  
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait  
For my head on a silver plate  
Just a puppet on a lonely string  
Oh, who would ever wanna be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing  
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing  
Be my mirror, my sword and shield  
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain  
I know Saint Peter won't call my name  
Never an honest word  
But that was when I ruled the world

Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing  
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing  
Be my mirror, my sword and shield  
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain  
I know Saint Peter won't call my name  
Never an honest word  
But that was when I ruled the world'  
I stood there, speechless, after the final chords rang through my piano. Christine is definitely in a more positive mood from when the last time she haunted me with her voice.When I sit on my bench,it's warm, and the new parchment I had just set aside to use was used by her. I start to play and sing the song, just as I had with the other song that did this same thing.   
Instead of feelings of sadness, I get feelings of happiness and joy. I suddenly get pulled into the only joyous memory that I have. I was 15 at the time, and I was under the care of a master stone mason. I loved what I did, and those same feelings reflected what I was playing. After the song, I immediately started bursting out laughing. It was the most interesting and conflicting emotion I ever beheld. Then, I hear the distant sound of laughing from the cellars. One of the voices I instantly recognized as Christine's. Her laughter was like the musical tinkling of bells, like when I was an infant, and played with bells over my crib. There was another person with her, another feminine laugh, but it sounded more aged, as if she was with an older relative. Her mother, perhaps? I didn't dwell on it much longer, for the sound of their laughter faded slowly away, until I couldn't hear it anymore. The only thing I did after their laughter was gone was smile.


	8. Travelling through Time

Travelling through Time  
-two years later, 2016-   
It has been two years since dad was killed. I'm now eighteen, and bound to start college in a year. Right now, I've taken a gap year, to 'discover myself', supposedly. It's actually very nice, not having too many worries in mind (besides my job at the nearby cafe). I can do practically anything I want, and sleep in. Lately though, I've run out of ideas on what to do.   
Today, I chose to spend my morning lazing about in one of the sitting rooms; where I've been reading Great Expectations. I set down my novel after reading nine chapters, and turn on the television.   
'We are live in Paris, where a great snowstorm from the Northeast sweeps all across the country. Don't expect to get anywhere today; the snow has already gotten most of the roads covered, and it will be hard to get anywhere. I advise you to stay indoors, and keep warm.'   
"What?! Snow!!"   
I turn off the T.V., throw open the curtains from a nearby window, and see the sight before me. The grounds of our estate are blanketed by a thick, white, powdery snow. Big snowflakes the size of cotton bolls fall from the sky, creating all of Paris a winter wonderland. It's beautiful! With Paris under all this snow, it bleeds the color out of everything, turning everything it touched a pure, innocent white.   
"Mom!" I call out.  
"Look out your window! you've got to see this!"  
My mother was nearby, in the library next door to the sitting room I was in. She rushes into the room, and says  
"What? What's going on, Christine?"  
"Look outside! It's snowing!"  
Sure enough, she peers out through the window, and exclaims   
"Good gracious! We better get those extra layers on, because we are going to have ourselves a snowball fight."   
After saying this, she looks at me, and she has a mischievous glint in her eyes, making her seem like a child than the aged woman standing before me.   
"Last one out is a melted snowman!" My mother calls out like a child as she rushes out of the sitting room to get snow clothes on. I chase after her, and call out through the corridor:   
"We'll see about that!"   
As I run to my room to get the snow gear on, I could not help but think of how similar this situation was. I was six, and it had snowed for the past few days. I was just so excited to go out and play in the snow.  
'Daddy, look! It's snowing! Can we go out to play? '  
'Of course. last one outside is melted snowman! My father says, a childish hint of challenge in his voice as he says it. I call out:  
'We'll see about that!' as I rush to get my snow boots on.   
'Come on, Mon Ange; I'm waiting.'   
'Coming daddy!'  
I finish getting dressed, and rush out the front door. When I pull open the door, all I see is... Snow covered grounds.   
"Mom? Where are y-"   
I was cut short by a snowball that landed directly in my face. Sputtering, I wipe off the snow in my eyes, pick up a handful of snow, and pack it into a ball. I pull my arm back, and throw my snowball. It finds it's mark, hitting my mother straight in the chest.   
"I'll get you for that one, Christine!"   
I run away onto the grounds, dodging snowballs, and hide behind a tree, trying not to laugh as I refill my makeshift snow ammunition, and build a snow wall to hide behind. Thinking I was safe behind my wall, I don't hear the crunch of snow signalling footsteps behind me. I find that my mother was directly behind me, and throws snowballs at me. I scream, and duck to my wall, laughing as I get pelted with snowballs.   
This was the first time I had laughed in months, after the time when I talked to mother about her reaction to my time, and burst out laughing at the thought that I would instantly fall in love with Erik the first time if I met him face to face. The whole situation got me into fits of laughter, and it reminded me of a song called On Top Of The World by Imagine Dragons, Especially the chorus.   
'I'm on top of the world, eh.   
I'm on top of the world, eh.  
I've been waitin' on this for awhile now,   
paying my dues to the jury.  
I've been waitin' to smile eh.  
I've been holdin' it in for awhile, eh.   
take you with me if I can,   
I've been dreaming of this since I was a child,   
I'm on top of the world.'  
With those lyrics in mind, all I can do is smile.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
-1883-   
I awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I had another dream about Christine. It's the first one in months, and it has shaken me to the core. I climb out of bed, and build a fire in the sitting room to calm down. Already the dream fades, but it's like I was there in her time; It was so real and vivid.  
I was walking down rue de la roses, and the neighborhood was covered in snow. I can still feel the biting cold in my bones. I haven’t a clue where I'm walking, and I suddenly walk where small shops and homes line the streets. In front of one of the houses, an older woman and her daughter have a snowball fight in their yard. I'm drawn to them by the daughter's voice. It's Christine's! Seeing her build her snow fortress, I couldn't help but to stifle a laugh as her mother sneaks up behind her for a surprise attack.  
It was a warming feeling that built up inside when I saw her. She was absolutely beautiful. She had her chocolate brown hair down, and it fell in glossy waves on her shoulders. Her eyes were the same color, and brightened by exercise, along with her cheeks, which were reddened by the cold.   
they were out there for awhile, before they started for the front door. But, before they could reach the door,Christine disappears out of thin air! Her mother at first looks surprised, then looks relieved... I was very concerned at this point, for I had not a clue where she went. Then, I had woken up.  
It was a very strange dream, and before I could ponder over it any longer, I could hear her, screaming, in the depths of the cellars. I quickly grab my cloak and sword, and dash out at full speed, praying I'm not too late to save her.


	9. An Unexpected Rendezvous

-2016, 1883-  
I was so ready to get back inside after our intense snowball war. I was soaked head to toe in melted snow, and it was getting dark.   
"Mom, let's go back inside!"  
"Alright! I'll make some hot chocolate to warm us up when we get inside."  
As we were heading back inside, I get this massive wave of nausea, and then my vision blurs. The last thing I hear is my mother, gasping in surprize.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When I become conscious again, I'm in a torch-lit tunnel. Also, I notice my clothes change from winter clothes to a midnight blue frock. 'Oh no! I must've actually traveled back!' That thought passed through my mind as I walked deeper into the tunnel. I should've been scared, but I felt the complete opposite. I felt something heavy in my pocket not to long after I had walked from my travel spot. When I reached inside to see what it was, I pull out a silver dagger with our family crest engraved in the hilt of the blade. Putting it back for safe keeping, I walk ever so deeper into these meandering tunnels, having no idea that someone was following close behind me.  
As I go lower and lower into this neverending tunnel, the air around me turns cold, and I feel as though I'm being watched. Not standing the feeling anymore, I put my hand in my pocket, Grasp the dagger, and turn around. There was in fact someone following me, and he looked very grubby. His clothes were tattered and smudged with grease, and he had rope wrapped from his shoulder to his waist diagonally.  
"Who are you, monsieur, and why are you following me?"  
"I'm Joseph Bauqet, master scene-changer of this here opera house. Ya looked lost, and a pretty girl like yourself shouldn't be wanderin' around these cellars all alone," Bauqet got closer to me.  
"Especially with the opera ghost runnin' 'round these parts. Come, I can take ya where you can be safe." With that, he attempted to grab my arm, but I pulled away, and started to run. He came chasing after me, and finally after a few moments, he pulled me down by my arm, and tried to get on top of me while I was down.   
"Where do you think Yur goin', missy?"  
I scream, and pull out my dagger, slicing his cheek. He howled in pain, and loosened his grip on me. I broke free, and ran from him, screaming   
"HELP!!"   
Meanwhile, Bauqet chased after me some more, growling  
"I'll get ya, ya lil wench!"  
It seemed as though no one was going to come, and I decided to defend myself. I stopped running, and faced him, dagger in hand.   
"Now I've got ya, ya stupid whore!"  
"I. Am not. A Whore!" I say through gritted teeth. I unsheath my dagger from my pocket, ready to strike.  
"Oh what'r you gonna do? Cut my meat for me?" With those words, he pulls out a dagger of his own, old and rusted.   
He charges at me, and I backflip over him in defense, kicking the back of his head along the way. Suddenly, He grabbed me from behind, and has the rusted dagger at my throat.   
"What'r ya do now, ya jumpin grasshopper?"   
I whimper, knowing I should've turned around faster, and now I'm caught. I scream out one final plea.   
"Please! Someone help me!!"   
In my ear, Bauqet says:  
"No one can hear ya scream from down 'ere. Yur all mine!" He cackled, and I feel tears spring in my eyes.   
"Please Monsieur, let me go!"   
He turns me around, his back to the tunnel we just went through, giving sight of a masked man running in the far distance of the tunnel, coming closer with each long stride. I continue to weep, dagger at my throat, thinking these moments will be my last. Finally, this masked person comes to my aid.   
"Let her go, Bauqet!" the man says through gritted teeth.   
"Fine. I will!"  
He lets me go, but when he does, he slices deep into my throat, and tosses me aside. I feel the warmth of my own blood pouring out as I gasp for air. In tear blurred eyes, I see my rescuer dueling with my attacker, and to help my rescuer further, I throw my dagger at Bauqet for one last chance for revenge. As I throw it, I start to lose consciousness, and it feels as tough time slows. The dagger finds its mark, and lodges right in Bauqet's throat. My vision goes dark, and I feel myself collapse to the cold, stony ground of the cellars.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I hear Christine scream once more as I run to her aid, helping me find her with much more ease. I also hear another man's voice growling out each word he said. That only makes me run faster. I'm running down the southwest corridor, close to the entrance to the cellars through the opera house. In the distance, I see her.  
She's wearing a midnight blue frock this time, and not the strange winter clothes she had on previous in my dream. Bauqet has her at knifepoint, and I hear her tearfully plea for help.   
"Please! Someone help me!"  
I then hear Bauqet mumble something in her ear, which only made her weep more.   
"Please Monsieur, let me go!"   
She catches sight of me,and has a relieved look on her face. I draw my sword just as I get a yard away from her. Angrily, I grit my teeth.  
"Let her go, Bauqet!"  
"Fine. I will!"  
He lets her go, but the knife blade slices deep across her throat as he throws her down to the ground. Gasping for air, she desperately looks at me a moment, and then looks away in the other direction. With a cry of fury, I lunge at Bauqet, to make him pay. He blocks my move with difficulty. Now was my chance. I slice his hand to make him drop the weapon; rendering him defenceless. Before I can make a death blow to his middle, a silver dagger cuts through the air, and lodges in the side of Bauqet's throat. His eyes widen, and then he goes down, killed.  
I look back to Christine, and I swore for a moment she had a smile of satisfaction on her face, knowing that she had hit her mark before she fell. Qwickly going to her aid, I do the best I can to dress her wounds now, tearing a piece of my cloak to suppress the bleeding. With that being done, I wrap the rest of my cloak around her ashen body. I pick her up, careful not to bump her head on any torches, and sprint off back home, hoping I can still save her in time.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
-1883-  
Through each corridor, I worry. 'Will I make it to my living quarters in time, to save Christine?' To make it in time, I run in a full sprint, carefully avoiding the traps that I had laid there. With each passing moment, she grows paler and paler, and it only makes me run faster.   
Right as I get to the boat on the lake, she starts to stir, coughing up a bit of blood as well.   
"Hold on, mademoiselle, we are almost there."  
Hoping she had heard me, I try as fast as I can to get home in time to dress her wounds properly. Once we touch the shore, I quickly scoop up her trembling body in my arms, tie up the boat, and race to the door.As soon as I was inside, I quickly take her to the sitting room, and set her gently on the setee. As I set her down, she uttered a soft cry of pain.  
"Don't worry Christine, you are safe now," I said softly to her as I prepared to stitch up her wound. After sterilizing the needle over candlelight and threading it, I untie the scrap of cloak that suppressed the bleeding. I drop the scrap immediately in surprize. Her wound had healed perfectly, leaving only a jagged scar at the base of her throat, which even that was growing smaller and smaller with each passing moment.   
I gasp, and stare in wonder and confusion. 'How in the bloody hell did that wound heal that fast?' As I stared at her, I noticed that the color had returned to her complexion, and she was slowly regaining consciousness.   
I quickly avert my gaze, and gather the supplies that I had originally taken out to use. As I turned away from her to leave the room, I hear her stir, and awaken.  
"Monsieur? Can you please tell me where I am?"  
I turn back around to face her.  
"You, mademoiselle, are underneath the Palais Garnier," I reply in as level as a tone I can muster.   
At first she looked confused, then, after a moment of processing the information, she had a look of recognition crossing her face as she made eye contact with me.  
"Are you... The one who sent me those roses and note?" She asked in a trembling voice.  
My eyes widened in surprize. 'So she did receive those things.' I thought before answering. With that silence, she hastily said  
"Oh, you probably think I'm an escapee from an asylum.. Please disregard what I just said."  
"Oh, not at all, Christine. I did send those. I was just surprised that you even received them... I surely thought that it was a dream."  
There was a few moments of guarded silence, when Christine finally spoke again.   
"Well.. thank you, for those little gifts. They really gave me hope at a time where I hurt the most."   
Another silence started, before I had replied.   
"Your quite welcome, Christine. I should thank you too, for the music that you had given me..." I cut off, not daring to express my feelings to her, for I hardly knew her.   
"Your welcome. That's how I have been venting my emotions..." She cuts off, and I resume where she left off with my perspective.  
"Yes, you gave me quite a scare one night when your voice filled my home and my piano played on its own... You managed to scare the opera ghost." I suppress a chuckle.   
She laughs, filling the room with her bell-like laughter. I join in a little, feeling the joy wrap around the room, turning it from a dark, miserable place to a warm, cozy room just with her laughter.


	10. Bonds through Music

I knew I was going to collapse right as I threw the weapon, but I had to take the shot as revenge for my life; if I will die, and that might be soon. I heard the sickening thud of the dagger as it reached its mark, and I felt my mouth curve into a weak, satisfied smile. Then, as though the burst of adrenaline immediately disappeared from my body, I collapsed.   
Everything was dark, and I only had little use of my senses to the outside world. A bright light crossed into the darkness, and I saw my life literally flash before my eyes.   
It was like I was watching a home video, except this video was of my memories. Things I kept locked deep inside, and never dared to approach again flashed past. Memories of my last time with dad, and many other terrible mistakes in my life. I tried to look away; ashamed, but I couldn't. Then, my last memory flew past.   
"Please! Someone help me!!"   
In my ear, Bauqet says:  
"No one can hear ya scream from down 'ere. Yur all mine!" He cackled, and I feel tears spring in my eyes.   
"Please Monsieur, let me go!"   
He turns me around, his back to the tunnel we just went through, giving sight of a masked man running in the far distance of the tunnel, coming closer with each long stride. I continue to weep, dagger at my throat, thinking these moments will be my last. Finally, this masked person comes to my aid.   
"Let her go, Bauqet!" the man says through gritted teeth.   
"Fine. I will!"  
He lets me go, but when he does, he slices deep into my throat, and tosses me aside. I feel the warmth of my own blood pouring out as I gasp for air. In tear blurred eyes, I see my rescuer dueling with my attacker, and to help my rescuer further, I throw my dagger at Bauqet for one last chance for revenge. As I throw it, I start to lose consciousness, and it feels as tough time slows. The dagger finds its mark, and lodges right in Banquet's throat. My vision goes dark, and I feel myself collapse to the cold, stony ground of the cellars.  
Then, the light that I saw before vanished, and all the pain that I didn't feel before rushed back to me in one big sweep. My senses were returning somehow; I didn't die. The pain was too great, and a weak moan of pain escaped from my lips. It was still too dark to see anything, but a soft voice near me said:  
"Don't worry Christine, you are safe now."  
Though I heard him, I didn't reply. Instead, I tried to relax my tense muscles by going a bit more limp in someone's arms; probably the arms that belonged to whoever saved me earlier. I tried racking my exhausted brain to remember who it was, but all I remembered was a flash of ivory and flowing black silk.   
I cough a bit, and blood comes along with it. The voice, concerned, says:  
"Hold on mademoiselle, we are almost there."   
I lose consciousness again, and when I awake, I'm inside a house, on a settee. I try to sit up, but I did so too fast, and a massive wave of vertigo overcame me. Dizzy, I slump back on the throw pillow my head was resting on. I slowly turn my head, and a man had turned to leave.  
"Monsieur, can you tell me where I am?"  
Surprised, he turned to face me. I immediately know that it was Erik who had saved me, for he had a mask covering the right side of his face. He had shining, jet black hair, and startling blue-grey eyes. He had a pale complexion, and was rather slim. He then parted his full lips and spoke in a pained, level tone.  
"You, mademoiselle, are underneath the Palais Garnier."  
A look of recognition crossed my face as I stared at him, and my eyes widened. I finally spoke a few moments after, my tone trembling and weak as I spoke.  
"Are you... The one who sent me those roses and note?"   
Before he replied, his eyes widened in surprise. Before he had a chance to reply, I hastily said:  
"Oh, you probably think I'm an escapee from an asylum.. Please disregard what I just said."  
"Oh, not at all, Christine. I did send those. I was just surprised that you even received them... I surely thought that it was a dream."  
There was a few moments of guarded silence, when I finally spoke again.   
"Well.. thank you, for those little gifts. They really gave me hope at a time where I hurt the most."   
Another silence started, before He had finally broke the awkward silence.   
"Your quite welcome, Christine. I should thank you too, for the music that you had given me..." He cuts off.  
"Your welcome. That's how I have been venting my emotions..."I cut off, and he resumes the narrative with his perspective.  
"Yes, you gave me quite a scare one night when your voice filled my home and my piano played on its own... You managed to scare the opera ghost." he suppressed a chuckle.   
I laugh, And after a little bit he starts to laugh as well.   
"Since you already know my name, can you tell me yours?"  
"I'm Erik. Or... The Phantom of the Opera," He says, and adds the nickname with a hint of playfulness in his tone. I chuckle, and he hardens. He clears his throat, and tries to say something more, but then abruptly walks out of the room.   
I sit there on the settee, dumbfounded. ‘Why would he abruptly leave the room like that,’ I wonder as I try to stand from the settee to see where he has gone. I get a wave of vertigo, and sit back down to wait for it to pass.   
After a moment, I here the beginning chords of Liebstraume, by Franz Liszt. I've only heard the piece once before, and only for a few minutes, but what I was hearing was magnificent. I wandered from the sitting room to find the source of the beautiful piece, almost as if I was in a trance. My feet were leading me into a corridor, then right to another room.  
The door was ajar, and I opened it the rest of the way, very quietly, to go into the room. The room was occupied by many volumes of written works, some bits of pieces scattered about on the floor. In one corner was a music stand, a Flute and Violin resting near it. On the right, the room was occupied by a grand piano, and Erik was playing the piece, seemingly lost in his music. I leaned on the doorway, just watching him play the beautiful piece.  
I start to walk to him, and too soon, the song was over. The spell I was under had broken, and another wave of vertigo washed over me. I wobble out of balance, and I grasp a nearby chair to keep me from falling to the ground, making a slight noise. Erik turned around, and came over to me, seating me in the chair so I can gain my balance once again.  
“Are you alright, Christine,” he asked, in a concerned tone.  
“I’m fine,” I reply. “I’m just recovering from not being on my feet for a little while. I heard you playing that Liszt piece, and I followed the music to you.”  
He looked a little shocked, but only for a second, as he was then directing me to my feet, and guiding me to the cozy sitting room.  
I fire was glowing on the hearth as we were talking about various pieces of the era, and of the past. I then start a different subject.  
"I must be such a bother, being the damsel in distress almost every minute you turn around."  
He looked a bit irked by my statement, and a pregnant silence fell upon the room. Finally, He mustered up the courage to say something.  
"Well, um... I believe we can fix that.. I can- teach you a few things, to- defend yourself." He coughed out of embarrassment. Though I already knew how defend myself, I accept his offer, making this a chance to know one another a bit better.  
"I would like that. When shall we start?"  
"As soon as you are able to stand for a few moments without losing your balance," He replied jokingly. I laughed a little, and a laugh, similar to my own had begun along with mine. It was enchanting, the way his face lit up with amusement, the lines around his face crinkling into a face of joy, instead of the hard, morose expression I had first seen him with. The laughter stopped, and I looked into his blue-gray eyes. We made eye contact for a fleeting moment, before we both quickly turned our heads in embarrassment, a blush forming on both our cheeks.   
After a few moments of staring down at our shoes, I felt stronger, and looked back up to him.   
"Erik?"  
He looked up, staring at me.  
"Yes, Christine?"  
"Well, um.. I was wondering if we can start those self-defense lessons now..."   
He straightened up in surprise. raising a brow, he said  
"Are you up to it? I mean, we can always do it tomorrow when you have more strength-"  
"I can do it. I feel much better."   
"If you insist.."  
He had given me clothes to change into that would be more comfortable to move in (But of course keeping to the Victorian women's modesty) while he went to get a few things planned for me. He had given me a simple servant's dress, loose and comfortable to move in, from the costume vault of the opera house. It hugged my figure nicely, and I had hoped he will notice during this session. He soon came back, then led me to the outside of his house on the shores of the underground lake. He handed me a saber, much like his own, and showed me how to wield it.  
"Here... It looks as though you have done this before. Has anyone taught you defense?"  
"No," I lied a little. "I just kind of picked up bits and pieces of it through observation."  
"Well, this will be much easier than I thought then."  
Erik then showed me the most elementary of moves, which i mastered within seconds. Seeing my rapid progress, he had challenged me to a duel to see what I knew, and my skill level.   
"Now, if I go too hard on you, please let me know. I don't want you do get hurt. Are you ready?"  
I nodded, getting into stance.  
"En garde!"  
We had started off slow, then advanced on each other with fiery intensity. I had a slender figure, so it was easy to duck and move as swift as I did. We had parried and thrust our way up and down the shore, not breaking one another's concentration. Then, I found myself to be cornered. Being cornered, I couldn't move as swiftly as I wanted it to, and as a consequence, Erik's blade cut my shoulder, slicing a rip in the sleeve of my dress. I gasped in surprise, and found my shoulder was cut. It wasn't too deep, but blood was starting to stain the ripped fabric. I winced, but I then felt a surge of adrenaline course through me as I vowed for playful revenge. To get myself out of the corner I was trapped in, I had to back flip over him, much like what happened in the cellars. I did so, landing silently behind him, and then I ripped the fabric of his shirt a little on his shoulder, cutting him only slightly; not nearly as deep as what he accidentally did to me. He gasped, whipping his masked face around to see me.  
"How... No one has ever..." He was rendered speechless by my actions. He also noticed what he had done to me for he hastily produced an apology;he almost looked like he was going to cry in front of me on behalf of my shoulder.  
"Oh, god! I never meant to hurt you in any way shape or form! I'm so sorry..." a tear formed in his eye, but he quickly wiped it away.  
"Oh, Erik, it's quite-" He turned to face me suddenly with a more angered look on his face. He rose to his full height, and approached me in such a menacing manner that I took a step back in fear.  
"No, it is NOT alright! You should've told me I hurt you, so I would've stopped! But... I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you..." His temper suddenly faltered, and tears started to stream down his frustrated face. He sank to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.   
Seeing him crying brought tears to my eyes. I sank to my knees beside him, realizing the pain he would feel, as though his pain was my own. My wound had healed within minutes, but that wasn't the reason I sank to my knees; he had thought it was though.  
"Oh god, what have I done!" He said, crying even harder.  
My sobbing had tapered, and, in a tear strained voice, I said  
"Hush now, Erik. I'm quite alright."   
I lift his chin so his eyes were level with mine; he flinched at the touch. I almost started to cry again, for I saw the hurt and emotion swimming in his eyes of blue-grey as I made eye contact with him. Again, I consoled him, soothing him with my voice.  
"Shh. It's alright. I'm perfectly fine, thanks to my uncanny ability to heal super fast."  
That made him smirk a little; he was finally calming down. I felt an urge to hug him, and I did so, making himself flinch.  
After the shock of my sudden hug, he held me closer to him, crying softly into my hair. He regained his composure, and stood up shakily, making me stand as well.  
"No woman has ever willingly wanted to touch me, much less hug me.."  
Though I knew the answer, I inquired more.  
"Why?"  
"It's what's underneath my mask... They-they think I'm a hideous creature that doesn't even deserve living on the streets."  
A few moments pass, and I come closer to him, putting my hand on his masked cheek. Instinctively, he turned away, but not without me pulling off his mask. His cheek was marred by angry, sweltering scars; as though he was burned, and the skin covering it was but a thin, shiny film, exposing a few main arteries in his face. I never said a word, never turned my head in disgust, or scream at the sight; I have seen far worse portrayed on Broadway, so this was nothing. I let the mask fall to the floor, and he quickly turned to meet my eyes, an angry look on his face, for he was expecting a look of horror. Instead, he got a calm, sorrowful expression. A tear had escaped my eyes as I silently cup my palm to his exposed face. His face softened, and he pulled me close in an embrace. Into my ear he had whispered  
"Oh, Christine..."


End file.
